Chapter 1: Office Hours
He was fine. He was good. He was hot as all hell and he was going to get into that man’s pants if it was the last thing he did in this godforsaken school. Nevermind that he couldn’t walk straight, those were just details. He wouldn’t need to be standing soon anyway.
…Unless that’s how Sensei wanted him.
Damn, if that’s how they would do it… Genos imagined his faced being slammed on the wall, his skirt hiked up, that massive fucking cock he always saw in those tight slacks pressing up against him—
Oh, he was here. “SAITAMA SA” labeled the dirty gray door, almost half his teacher’s name lost to poor adhesive and a budget that was too tight to replace however many letters were needed. He never told any of the students his family name, and it bothered Genos a little that he never told him, but oh well. He didn’t need to know that now. Not like he’d scream anything other than “Sensei” even if he did.
He took a second to straighten himself out and clear his mind. It wasn’t that he was afraid of repercussions from what he was about to do. If his pristine academic record did not dissuade the disciplinarians from giving him bad marks and ruining their only instance of a “perfect” student, then the fact that they were afraid of him would. Still...
…This was much further down the “delinquent” path than he’d ever gone before. Being in the building after hours was one thing. Being drunk in the building after hours was another. And doing both after having stolen a girl’s uniform and a pair of the janitor’s keys to get inside...?
Well. Considering even the school’s shoddy security, it was a miracle Genos had not been caught by this point. His nerves were frazzled.
He puffed out a breath, forcing himself to focus. He was ready. Despite how incredibly anxious he was to get that man inside him, he was in control. Ten months he’d been planning this. Ten months. He saw Saitama-sensei rush into his World History class on the first day of the year and decided a few hours later he was going to sleep with him. Most of his classmates were aware of his intentions, and not by mistake. He’d made it very clear he was interested. Should anyone so much as stare at Sensei for too long, Genos wanted to be sure they knew he was the one who would be fucking him.
…Not that he needed to, honestly. The other students were fools and couldn’t see how stunning Saitama-sensei was. They teased him regularly for his crush on “Mr. Baldy”—he’d dated all the most attractive people in school, and now he was going for some weird substitute?—but he ignored it. If they didn’t want to fully appreciate him, then they were to blame for being blind to all the things he was—gorgeous, strong, toned, with a fantastic ass and a sweet smile, and…nice laugh…
…Who had a knack for telling the most heinous puns, and wearing the most hideous discount ties…
…a-and somehow, when he would talk to him, Genos thought…he could truly believe all the nice things people told him he was, rather than…thinking they were trying to use him…
He blinked and shook his head. Now was not the time to get caught up in his emotions. He needed to be cool, collected—enact his plans like a finely-tuned machine. He’d been working up to this point since September, and he’d be damned if he was going to lose his only chance.
…Because this was his only chance, let there be no doubts about that. Genos was going to be graduating in a week, and Saitama-sensei was subbing “since I don’t have anything else to do,” as he put it. They would be leaving this awful building far too soon for legal action to begin, if it should get to that point. He’d taken several measures to be sure it would not.
Saitama’s office was in the Old Wing where they never bothered to install a surveillance system, and Genos had been careful to use the hallways that had fake cameras (which had taken far more nights and wads of cash to find out than Genos would ever want to admit). Since it was the day after staff had to complete any remaining paperwork, almost everyone except for his procrastination-prone substitute would have everything submitted, and he would be alone in the building late into the night.
Genos’ vision wavered and he tottered against the cool concrete wall. Perhaps he should have reconsidered the rum. He didn’t drink often, but for his weight three shots should have only calmed him…
No matter. He needed to focus.
Genos put his hand on the door, getting ready to knock. He could do this. He could do this. He’d been going out and seducing men for months, and he was to a point where all he needed to do was flash them a smile and he knew he’d be riding them within an hour. He was irresistible.
…And incredibly thankful both for the existence of condoms, and convincing fake ID presses. Again, though, off topic. He had to focus.
He breathed out, and put his fist to the door.
Saitama looked up, startled. Was that…?
…What the hell?
The wheels on his chair squeaked as he pushed back from his dinged-up desk, wondering who would be trying to come talk to him now. The kids were gone, the teachers were home (except for him, because he was an idiot and totally forgot about that dumb deadline…), the janitors left him alone…
When he opened the door, he saw—
“Genos? What are you—“
Genos. Smart, sarcastic, scary-if-it-wasn’t-for-his-sweet-as-honey-smile Genos, was standing at his door…
…in a shirt that was way too tight for his chest…
…and a skirt holy shit—
“G-Genos! Why—get in here, hurry up,” he hushed, flabbergasted no one had seen him yet. What was he doing? Was he trying to get himself expelled right before graduation? Not that…well, wearing the girls uniform probably wasn’t that severe of an offense, but being on school grounds after hours and breaking dress code at the same time…
…No matter…how good he looked doing it…
Saitama swallowed back the storm of thoughts that usually hit him when he saw the guy sitting in his class and put his teacher face on. Genos was here, acting weird, and all by himself. Something was obviously wrong.
The blonde hopped up on the corner of his desk and leaned back, crossing his legs. With the way he was looking at Saitama…
Something was obviously really wrong.
“What’s going on, kid? You’re usually, uh…” Wearing pants, stiff as a rod, not staring at me like you want to eat me…
Wait, no—scratch that last one. That’s how he stared at him every single class, and it sure made it hard to keep eye contact when he answered questions.
…Which he did. All the time. And he was always right.
“…What, Sensei? Reserved? Well-behaved?” He smirked and added, “…Incredibly good-looking?”
Saitama grunted. He was always right.
“You’re acting weird.”
He tossed his head to the side, trying to get his bangs into place, and answered, “No, I think I’m acting…quite well, actually. You’re starting to want me, aren’t you? If you don’t already.”
…He was always right.
“Stand up! You’re—this isn’t okay, you have to go home before you get into trouble…”
“Hm,” he hummed, leaning further back and…uncrossing his legs… “Trouble…doesn’t sound so bad.”
Saitama huffed out a breath. “Up. Get off my desk.”
The blonde grinned. “Will you pick me up and help me?”
Saitama stood plastered to the floor, noticing for the first time his chest was about ready to shatter from the way his heart was pounding against it.
He was…very aware of what was happening. He had a hunch Genos had been trying to make it happen for a while, which is why he wouldn’t let himself get caught alone with him, and… Shit, he was such a creep, but he’d dreamt of this happening about fifty times since he started this goddamned gig. Still, though…
It could not be happening, for lots of reasons. Most of them with permanent records attached to them, and some of them jail time. Genos wasn’t old enough yet—he was month shy of eighteen, maybe just a few weeks. Saitama knew that because that was one of the first things he weaseled out of the guy. …Emphasis on the “weasel” part, since Saitama also knew exactly why he was so eager to find out.
Again. He was an absolute fucking creep.
…Which was why he couldn’t look away from the kid’s legs as he was slipping off his desk, and…walking over to him…!
“You aren’t going to make a move, I take it,” he mumbled, getting way too far into Saitama’s personal space. “Although…I suppose you can’t, can you? You can’t put your hands on me.”
He wrapped his fingers around Saitama’s arm, and it felt like it was burning through his sleeve.
“But I can.”
The man backed up, banging against the door and slipping to the side. Saitama vaguely registered alcohol on his student’s breath before he laughed and followed.
“Don’t you want my hands on you?”
Yes. “No! Are—are you drunk? Dude, you’re—“ He stumbled against the edge of his desk—“You’re gonna graduate soon, you can’t screw that u—“ There was a crrrack and a thud as he tripped into his chair. Thing chooses now of all times to finally bust…
Genos clambered back onto his desk, pushing aside papers and pens and…and his cup, and…
Reaching over to the chair…
With one massive tug his nose was centimeters away from his teacher’s.
“I want to put my hands all over you…”
Saitama tried to slide back, but—stupid crappy wheels broke!—
“And I want your hands all over me, too.”
If Saitama thought he was blushing before, he was wrong. Completely wrong. If he didn’t know any better every liter of blood in his body was rushing to his cheeks—
…Well. Well okay there was at least a liter or two going to, um…
…Aw fuck Genos was so fucking hot.
The blonde glanced down, and bit his lip, and sighed.
Rum. It was rum. Saitama could taste it.
“Will you touch me, Saitama-sensei?”
The man closed his eyes and sat back. Deep breaths, deep breaths…
“Kid,” he started, looking him straight in those pretty hazel eyes. “We’re not going to do this.”
Genos frowned and pulled away, just a little.
Good. “We can’t. There are a buncha reasons why, and I know you know them.”
He sat back with this pleased little smile, and…spread his damned legs again… “I’m unsure, Saitama-sensei. I know there are rules, but this is a brand new situation for me, and as you would often say, ‘context is everything’…”
Saitama glared. Little brat. Hot, flexible…little…
“You’re underage. For one.”
“Barely, Sensei.” He pulled a hand up along his thigh. “It would be easy enough to lie about when we fucked if the authorities came.” His skirt went up with it, and…he… “Really, it’s only enough to make it feel bad…”
Good god he wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I’m your teacher.”
“Mm… You are…” The second hand went up, up along his ripped-as-shit stomach, disappearing behind the top… “That’s a kink, you know. A very popular one. Lucky…lucky you…to be able to live it,” he sighed. He was toying with his chest…
He giggled, and it was so cute, shit he was so cute… “I’m drunk.”
Saitama glared. It wasn’t at all convincing. “Genos.”
Another sweet-ass giggle before he added, “And very, very, very horny.”
Saitama closed his eyes again, promising his dick they’d spend the entire night with the fleshlight if it would just calm the frick down.
“Genos,” he commanded.
…At least…he tried to sound commanding, except...it came out a lot closer to a whine...
Genos pulled his hand out of his shirt (thank god), and—and oh no, he—
“You are always telling me to have more fun…”
He was sliding further back on his knees, and…taking the edge of his skirt…
“…And extracurricular activities are important, Sensei.”
“And I want to play a game.”
There he was. There he was, in all his…thick, leaking…swollen glory…
“I’ll touch mine,” he purred, “If you touch yours.”
Saitama stared, and stared.
…And stared some more.
And hell, stared some frickin’ more, it’s not like he could be any more screwed than he was already.
“That way you won’t even have to say you violated me, Sensei.”
“Ha-a,” he squeaked.
…It was something.
“…Though I would love for you to do so.”
His hand slipped down, tracing the cut in his toned thigh, and he hissed when it touched the base of his bright red dick good lord he looked like something out of a high-end porno—
“I…I’ve thought about it…so much…”
He palmed himself, and bucked into it, and Saitama was finding it real hard not to play along.
“Your cock, in my mouth… In my throat…”
His cheeks too, he was bright red there too, and Saitama had to wonder if his neck was, his pecs… How pink, how red, how hard and slick and tender he could make his nipples…
“B-buried…oh, oh god, buried in my ass—“
Saitama lunged out, gripping both his wrists and pushing himself as far back as he could go.
The kid looked genuinely surprised. “Wh…What?”
“Stop,” he repeated, refusing to look up. “We aren’t going to do this.”
Genos wilted faster than a popped mascot. “But why?”
“I told you already.” And boy were those reasons hard to understand now…
“But you want me!”
“It doesn’t matter,” he pushed, tugging Genos just enough forward that he had to come off the desk. “We could both get into way too much trouble for it to be worth it.”
The blonde whipped his hands away, and Saitama was reminded again just how easily he hefted his body weight. “It would be worth it.”
Saitama rubbed the back of his head. He had not been trained on how to handle this… “Not…”
Genos stared at the ground, fists balling and shoulders hunched. If he bit his lip any harder it was going to start bleeding. “…I am such an ass,” he seethed.
“You’re not an ass,” Saitama answered. “You’re just…”
Bright eyes glared at him. “Don’t you dare say ‘young.’”
“I wasn’t,” Saitama mumbled, raising his hand in defense. “I was gonna say ‘horny.’ It…happens to the best of us.”
They stood in unbearably awkward silence for as long as Saitama could handle it.
“You should go home.”
Genos rubbed an arm. “I…don’t know that I can make it back to my clothes without being seen.”
His teacher let out a long breath. “What was your plan, then? For after…” His cheeks felt like they were going to explode. “Whatever this would have been.”
Genos nodded his head back towards the closet in the corner of the room. “I would wear the sweatshirt and the track pants you keep as a spare.”
Saitama gaped. “How do you know about those?”
“I…I have been planning this for…” He crumpled. “For a very long time.”
He looked so broken… The teacher in Saitama screamed out to give some kinda reassurance. “That’s…impressive…?”
“Right,” he scoffed, “Of course. Because I ended up making a fool of myself and ensuring you can never look me in the eye again.” He shoved his face in his hands, and Saitama had to struggle to hear him say, “I don’t believe I touched myself in front of you…”
…Yeah. Saitama didn’t believe it either. “I mean, it wasn’t… You did…good? Yeah.”
The boy stared. “Really.”
“Uh… Yeah. It was, uh. You did it right.” Saitama patted him on the shoulder. “Good job.”
Genos’ jaw dropped. “’Good job’? That’s...how you decide…to…” He let out a quiet laugh and stared at the ground. “…I have never met anyone as incredible as you, Saitama-sensei.” Another laugh, and then he muttered to himself, “’Good job’…”
Saitama probably should’ve stopped talking there. That would be the smart thing to do, right? Just end the conversation, make sure Genos got home, and forget the whole—this entire fuck-up of a situation, but… “…Listen.”
Those beautiful eyes zeroed in on him, and Saitama had to swallow past a bad case of dry mouth.
“I’m, y’know… This job isn’t… It was only a temporary, uh, thing, and…that’s…”
Saitama was an idiot, and a creep, and definitely needed to shut his mouth before he said anything else, because he could only make things worse from here on out, but…
Fuck, he felt bad for the kid. Sure, Genos hung around a lot of the students around school—sometimes the other teachers too, and with this he had some suspicions about why—but he never seemed happy. He’d stand there scowling, looking angry or bored, and wouldn’t smile once. Saitama didn’t hear him actually laugh until Genos started talking to him, and…if the man was being totally truthful…
…He’d always be laughing too, and go home a little happier than he had been, when...when they talked…
…Saitama struggled to keep eye contact as he went on. “You’re…a good guy. And, y’know…hot. Like really, really hot. Way too hot for me.” He watched Genos perk up and pushed him back down without realizing. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m saying this, because…”
…Yeah. He was an idiot.
“…I’m not gonna be here next year. Hell, I don’t think I’m gonna sub anymore, since this was…” He glared. “…An experience. I’m not cut out for it. And…you’re graduating, and with your birthday… It’s soon, right?”
If a person could literally glow, Genos was doing it now. “In twenty-six days.”
Saitama had to stop himself from groaning. That was close. “Right. Then you’re eighteen, and can screw whoever you want.”
The boy was laser-focused on his teacher.
“And…and so, if…someone… You couldn’t get in trouble, if, y’know…if an older, um…” He tore his hand away and scratched at his neck. “Aw come on, you know what I’m trying to say!”
Genos gave a shy smile. “…Do you want me to call you on my birthday, Sensei?”
Saitama couldn’t look back. “I—I’m… Just… What’s the day again?” he asked, tugging out his phone. Genos already had his number from a class trip earlier in the year, and from some…”accidental” texts he sent, Saitama knew he’d never deleted it.
With shaky fingers he punched it into his calendar. “Are you getting nervous saying that?” he marveled, glancing back at the desk. “After…?”
“I…I was not lying when I said…I’ve thought of you often…”
Saitama looked at him, at his pretty yellow hair and his tiny waist and his long legs, and still he got stuck on that dumb cute adorable fucking smirk he was giving him…
“…You need clothes.”
Genos sighed. “Yes.”
Saitama went over to his closet, handing off his sweatshirt and track pants. He faced the locker as Genos changed.
“Just…keep those until your birthday. I can’t really pick them up before.”
It was quiet for a few heartbeats. “…Thank you, Saitama-sensei.”
…God, Saitama was so screwed.
Chapter 2: After School
"Summer days driftin' away, to oh, those summer nights..."
Well. Well here you go. This was supposed to be a third of the length that it ended up being.
....WHY DO I DO THIS.
It was supposed to be PWP. It ended up being plot-with-some-porn. Fuck. FUCK.
Saitama strode across his too-clean apartment, all this extra space making him even more anxious than he already was.
He could still call it off. He could totally pick up the phone, tell Genos this was all a big mistake, and never see him again. Forget it ever happened. Never look back. Never think about the fact that he was about to pick up a barely-eighteen-year-old so he could bring him home and—
He paused at the porch door to stare at the dark sky outside. Was he gonna fuck him? He didn’t really…want to…
Saitama laughed nervously to an empty room. That was as much of a lie as it could possibly be—when he wasn’t daydreaming about it, he was having wet dreams of the kid every other night. Still though, that wasn’t…he didn’t only want the sex part…
…which made it worse?
He gave a strangled cry and paced back across room, scratching at the back of his neck. He was twenty-three. He was twenty-three. And Genos had just graduated from high school. That…that was creepy! That was weird! He was weird! He was a perv, he was a jerk, he should just leave him alone and let him move on to better guys—girls?—who were closer to his age, and who were prettier, and smarter, and who had some chance of getting the kind of job that wouldn’t land them in a the cheapest apartment in the cheapest neighborhood…
‘Cause he was going to college, Saitama knew that much. Genos had told him a few of the names he was applying to the last time they talked and they all sounded…big. The kinda places that you hear all the famous scientists graduating from, the ones who cured some kinda cancer or invented a new engine or…
Genos was a genius, basically. And he deserved another genius, someone who could actually keep up with him. Not someone who spent most nights eating ramen and watching anime and whose IQ tapped out at being able to calculate what seventy-five percent off was faster than most people.
Not that, y’know…Genos wanted to be with him. He…Saitama thought, maybe, there was a chance because of how much they talked—through text, through phone…they’d met up for coffee a few times, only an hour or so, and it was nice…to chat, and joke around, and just…be there, with…him…but that wasn’t a guarantee. He might’ve been real social, like one of those—what was the word? Extra-verse? The people who wanted to go out all the time. That could’ve been him. Or maybe he got a rise from it, or—or…or something like that.
It didn’t matter how real his smile looked, or how happy his laugh sounded. It could’ve been how he acted when he wanted something, couldn’t it? Not that…Saitama had ever seen him act that way with anyone before…
He paced back to the porch, eyes glued to the stained carpet and dinged-up floors. And if he did, well…he was eighteen. He could do that. According to the powers that be he put in his time or…whatever and he was free to do that with whoever he wanted. If it happened to be Saitama, then…well…
Was that really so bad?
He had his shit together more than Saitama did himself, despite having a pretty fucked-up life until this point. He talked like he was already a decade into the future and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up to him. He might’ve only been seven—eighteen—but if Saitama didn’t know that, he’d assume he was getting ready to graduate from college.
Saitama sighed. But…still, he was a seventeen-year old, basically. A brilliant, witty, gorgeous, sexy-as-hell seventeen-year-old who had been eighteen for a few hours by this point, but a seventeen-year-old nonetheless. Who Saitama was very, very rapidly falling for.
And who he’d taught. And who tried his damndest to fuck him once before.
Saitama was such a fucking creep.
There was a buzz in his pocket, and he jumped to answer before the ringer even went off. “Hello?”
“Sensei?” came the voice from the other end, and Saitama was ashamed to admit how giddy it made him. “Are you coming? If you got lost, I can send you the address again…”
This was it. This was the moment. He could tell him he wouldn’t do it, wish him luck, and let the whole thing be over. It didn’t matter how much the idea hurt. It didn’t matter that Genos would hate him for it. He’d be better off, on a good path…without some creepy loser holding him back…
“I am…so excited to see you…Sensei…”
Just say it—say “Goodbye,” say nothing and hang up!—
“…You have to stop calling me that, you know. I’m not your teacher anymore.”
…That would have been the moment, wouldn’t it?
“S-saitama, then. Will you be here soon? I am ready.”
Guilt kicked the man in the stomach. “I—I’m so sorry, I’m leaving now,” he rushed, grabbing his keys and stuffing his wallet into his jeans. “I was, um…cleaning, and things took longer than I thought they would. Your house is on Isaac, right?”
What a dweeb! He sounded so cute though… “Alright. I’ll see you soon?”
“Soon, yes. I’ll be waiting.”
He stuttered a goodbye and ran out his door, nowhere near sure he was doing the right thing. He was pretty sure it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, right? Even though…well, he really didn’t want to fuck him tonight, or the next one, or the next on after that, if he was lucky enough to get him to come over that much. He wanted to give the kid space, to think through it, to see if that’s what he actually wanted, and…and get to know him better, maybe, so…if things worked out, then, they could start…
He didn’t mean to slam his door shut once he stumbled into the car. When he did, though, he felt the massive fucking grin pushing on his cheeks.
…God, Saitama was so screwed.
He saw the headlights glowing down the street long before the car rumbled up to his house. His phone didn’t have a chance to ring before he was tugging it from his borrowed hoodie pocket and answering.
“S-Saitama. But yeah. Hey.”
Genos stared out the front window, as he had been for a good hour now (much to his uncle’s delight, if his constant teasing was anything to go off of). “I see you.”
“Oh! You’re—okay, cool. I’m at the right place then. Do you need a few minutes, or…?”
“Absolutely not,” he answered, grabbing his bag from the floor beside him. Blankets, a pillow, extra clothes, socks… He had perhaps overpacked for a single night over, especially considering that he was lucky to remember new underwear on all the other nights he’d stayed with someone, but…this was different. He didn’t want to impose…
…Oh—oh no, was he imposing? “I’ll be out in a moment?”
“Good! Good. Um. See you.”
Genos tapped “END” on his phone and hefted the pack over his shoulder. “Uncle, I am leaving.”
The old man leaned back from the desk in his “study” (which was merely a slightly messier corner of the living room) so he could see him. “Alright… You will be back in the morning?”
There it was. “Yes, Uncle.”
“…You have your phone? It’s fully charged?”
Genos held it out so he could see it. “Yes, Uncle. I have my phone, my wallet, a knife, I know where I am going and how to get back—“
“Okay, okay. I get it, I’m a nervous old coot.” He swiveled out from behind the wall and faced the boy. “Stay safe, though, please? You’ve been excited for this, I can tell. Just…” He rubbed his hands together. “Be smart, and stay safe.”
Genos swallowed down the guilt that always bubbled up before he went out. “I will, Uncle. You know I will. I always do.”
Kuseno nodded and gave one last goodbye before his nephew all but sprinted out the front door.
The car was worn down, but about as much as Genos had expected. He couldn’t remember seeing something so dingy having ever made him feel so light-headed. He waved (a bit too energetically) inside, and got just as excited of a wave back.
The door fought him before it opened.
“I’m sorry, it kinda sticks.”
And then he was there, right in front of him—gorgeous, cute, smiling, already bright red good god— “It is alright, Se—Saitama.” He started to shuffle in before the man unbuckled himself.
“Is that your bag? Lemme—“ He reached for it and Genos handed it over. It was promptly maneuvered into the backseat. “You shouldn’t have to carry it the whole way over.”
He waited until Sensei was fully seated to slide in himself, and…oh, fuck, the entire car smelled like him…
There was a click and he looked over to see his teach—ex-teacher…crush?—smiling back. “So. Hi.”
It took half a second for Genos to remember that he needed to answer. “Hello.”
There was another half-second of nervous staring before Saitama leaned over—awkwardly—with an arm out. Genos was fairly certain that the blood supply to his brain was cut off from his heart leaping up into his throat, and he was using that arm as leverage to get closer and open his mouth and—
And…not kiss him, because…he apparently wasn’t going for a kiss…
They were bright red as Saitama stuttered, head making microturns with every start, until he rushed in to kiss…
Both froze before Saitama groaned and plopped his head on his shoulder, a defeated laugh rumbling into it. His arm wrapped around Genos’ back. “Hey, kid.”
Genos returned the favor, hoping that hugs were a good fix for being utterly mortified. “H-hello…Sensei…”
…They were, a little. “Is that my sweater?”
…Maybe not. “…Yes… I thought…I could wear it tonight, to…return it…”
“Oh! Yeah, good thinking. I kinda forgot about it... Uh… We’ll get going?” he asked, pulling back and putting his hands to the steering wheel.
There was a tap against his seat. “Buckle up.”
He clicked it into place, and they drove.
There was another nervous pause, a moment of Saitama rubbing at the back of his head, and then, “H-how… How was your birthday?”
“Alright,” Genos answered, truthfully. “Quiet.”
“Any good gifts?”
This, was what he wanted to say, but…maybe that would’ve been too much. “My uncle brought me out to dinner, and he showed me the blueprint for another prosthetic we could start building together.”
The streetlights illuminated the confused look on Sensei’s face. “Blueprint?”
“Yes, Se—Saitama. We work on some of his side projects together. It’s never anything significant, but we get to test some of his and my ideas out on them.”
He stared straight ahead. “You’re so smart…”
Genos resisted the blush as it started. “…Thank you…”
“But, uh… That was it? Nothing from, like…friends, or anything?”
His immediate reaction was to answer that he had no friends, but…no matter how truthful, that sounded a bit heavy. When he tried to think up anything else, though—
…Saitama-sensei would probably not want to hear about the excess of nudes and flirty messages he’d received from his past partners, though, so, “Only ‘Happy Birthday’ greetings, Sensei.”
At least it wasn’t a complete lie…
“Oh… Well, that’s good too, I guess.” And he laughed. “Hopefully t-tonight, will, um… Y’know, I hope you have…fun…”
His voice got so soft that Genos couldn’t make out whatever else he mumbled over the low hum of the radio, or the massive thud-thud-thud pounding away in his own ears.
They talked on about small things from there, topics so odd and random Genos wasn’t entirely sure what they were even as they were discussing them. He was aware—they were both aware, he thought—that it was only to cut through the nervousness, the tension, so heavy it kept him rooted in his seat more effectively than his seatbelt ever could, but…
…It wasn’t unpleasant. It wasn’t even off-putting. It was…electric, it was exhilarating. It made him feel like he was constantly on the edge of imploding, should some spark flicker in the tiny space of the car, or as if it was full of small sparks firing off eternally.
He almost couldn’t handle it. He would say it made him feel like he was a teen again, except...well, for one, he was still a teen, but for another…he never understood that. He didn’t get what that meant, the giddiness that seemed to be attached to it, until now, right now, when he was somewhere between throwing up and vibrating out of his hoodie and trying hard not to smile like a lunatic with his heart getting ready to thump right into cardiac arrest—
…This was it, wasn’t it? This was what that meant?
He chanced another shy glance at Saitama, rambling happily as he drove, looking out this window, then back at that mirror. He seemed…so old, like this. So in control. Genos had driven with other people, of course, and he was perfectly capable of driving, but seeing Saitama-sensei do it…
The giddiness hit him two-fold, and he wasn’t sure if he was excited or terrified to finally reach his apartment.
As they got closer the buildings became decidedly more worn-down. Windows covered in spider-web shatters and “FORECLOSED” signs were common, while passersby were less and less so. Sensei shuffled in his seat as Genos stared at a grocer that was little more than a burnt frame.
“Sorry about…the neighborhood…” He gripped the wheel with both hands, staring hard through the windshield. “It’s shitty. I know it’s a lot worse than you’re used to…”
It was true that Genos lived in a “nice” area of town, but Sensei had no idea the kind of places he had been. “It does not bother me, Sen…Saitama. I assure you.”
Genos felt the look as much as he saw it, and his teacher glowed pink in the intermittent light of street lamps. “You’re sweet.”
And…Genos was probably pink too…
The road got bumpier, narrower, harder to see as the street lights vanished, either because the bulbs had blown and were never replaced or because they were simply toppled over.
Saitama cleared his throat. “It, um… I guess I never thought about how…rough it looked…”
“It is alright, I promise.”
The man looked unconvinced. He jumped when Genos put his hand to his, a nervous smile brightening his eyes.
“I’m happy to be here, Saitama.”
Genos sounded much more level-headed than he felt—“happy” was an incredible understatement, considering that he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking—but it convinced his ex-teacher all the same.
“…’Kay,” he mumbled, quietly. After a not uncomfortable moment, he reached over and brushed his fingers across Genos’ and mumbled even more quietly, “I am too.”
The boy spent the next ten minutes trying to keep the flutters in his lungs as only flutters and not a mild bout of hyperventilation. He also spent it trying to collect himself because he had, apparently, relapsed into being a twelve-year old that could only imagine what his first kiss would be and not an adult that had said the phrase, “Fuck me, daddy” more than he could count. He was always surprised by how effective it was…
He was very curious to see—t-to see, if…Saitama-sensei…
“At least I get all the parking to myself.”
Genos snapped to, realizing they were rolling under a garage door that seemed to be permanently open. It was empty save for Sensei’s car. “We…are here?”
“Yup,” Sensei chirped, rolling into the darkest corner of the lot. The car shuddered as he flipped the ignition off and jerked under the parking break. He looked at Genos as if he would say something, but after a moment of staring with his mouth open, he only repeated, “Yup” and leaned back to get the gym bag.
The butterflies in Genos’ chest turned into war hammers. “Okay,” he answered, weakly, trying to grab the bag when Sensei pulled it up. He only shook his head, opened his door, and slung it around his shoulder.
Genos tried to follow suit, but when he pushed against his door he merely collided with it. Sensei had said it stuck, but it wasn’t even budging…
He wasn’t free until the man opened it for him. “Sorry! It’s really hard to get it to open from the inside. I forgot to tell you. I’m not used to passengers, so…”
His hand was only a little clammy when Genos took it. There was a moment of hesitation—neither letting go, or dropping—and then Saitama pulled back.
“Let’s get in, yeah?”
Genos’ fingers burned like he’d been holding fire. “Surely…”
The stairs were as broken down as everything else around them, the lock jiggled loosely as Sensei opened it, the door groaned when he tugged it open…
…And the light spilling out from inside was so inviting Genos found himself stepping in before Saitama could finish telling him to.
“My place is really small. I like it this way, I wouldn’t want more space, but…I know your house is big, and maybe it’ll—maybe it seems cramped, and I guess it is, but… Well I cleaned before you came and it should be a little more open? But—you can, um… If it’s too much, you can go, if…you don’t…”
Genos shuffled off his shoes at the door as Sensei muttered on behind him, peering first into the kitchen and then the living room. Perfect—it was perfect, it was sweet and soft and warm, exactly the kind of place a man like him would own, worn down only enough to be welcoming, and smelling so oppressively of him…
“I love it,” Genos told him truthfully and stepped further into the living room. A large TV, a small table, a laptop and a manga tower and a rolled-up futon... It was strange that it was not set out—it would’ve taken up what small space they had, but he could not imagine Sensei would prefer lying on the hard floor...
He peeked through the glass door at something shining in the moonlight. “Is that a cactus on your porch, Sensei?”
He laughed. “Yeah, he’s my plant. He’s a strong little guy.” He inched passed the blonde and set his bag down with a heavy thud. “He’s gotta be, if he’s gonna survive me. I don’t exactly have a green thumb.”
Genos grinned at the small pot. “I did not think you would have any plants, Sensei.”
Sensei stopped. “’Saitama,’ remember? No more Sensei. I’m not going back to subbing.”
A spot of guilt dripped down Genos’ back, but it was washed away by…what was that, pride? Happiness? He knew exactly why Se—Saitama wasn’t going to sub anymore, because he’d caused it. He should feel bad about that, he knew that, but…
“So… You thirsty? Do you want a drink?”
There was a twist in Genos’ belly as he faced Saitama, who was a mess of bright red cheeks and bright eyes. Genos knew Sensei was tinier than him but it seemed terribly obvious now, and all he wanted to do was gather him up and squeeze him close and—
Right. He was asked a question. “Yes, Sensei. Please.”
That earned him the smallest glare. “Saitama.”
“Saitama, yes, forgive me. Please, Saitama.”
An odd expression flashed across Saitama’s face. Before Genos could place it he was swiveling around and speeding into the kitchen. “Do you want, uh…tea, or water, or…I think I have some Coke back here...”
This was familiar footing, at least. “If you have any alcohol, I’d be more than happy to help you make drinks.”
Saitama’s stern frown popped up into the window in the divide between both rooms. “You’re not old enough.”
“I’ve drunk plenty of times before.”
The glare came back. “Yuh-huh. I was there for one of them.”
“O-oh, I…” In light of the other much more…humiliating things he’d done when he tried to seduce his teacher, Genos forgot he was also drunk… “I am not usually so far gone, as I was…then…”
There was a clatter in the fridge and the sound of drinks pouring into cups. When he came around he handed one of them off. “No alcohol for either of us,” he ordered. Genos sipped at it and found it was green tea—a bit sweet and maybe too sour, but still pleasant. Saitama waved to the table and they sat.
His ex-sub fiddled with his cup and concentrated intensely on the chipped surface under it. After several moments he broke the quiet. “I didn’t want to be drunk, tonight, if… Well, I figure no matter what it’s best to be sober, so that—so we don’t do anything, um… Like we don’t try something weird, or b-bad, or—uh…”
There was a thud as his forehead hit the table. “I’m not good at this,” echoed against the wood.
Genos stared, deceptively collected given that he was agonizing over how to respond. Should he reach out, comfort him, tell him it was alright? Did he skip all this introductory nonsense and attack the man with kisses, and save them both the difficulty of making conversation? Did he disagree with him, tell him he was—no, Genos would not lie to him, Sensei was terrible at this, but he was sweet and caring, and no matter how strange it was considering what they were about to do it meant leagues more than the smoothest pickup lines ever could—
“You wanna watch something?”
His teacher had conjured a remote and was pointing it behind Genos.
He flicked noncommittally through several stations, settling on a late night entertainment show. Some celebrity was being interviewed by…some other celebrity, Genos had trouble keeping track of them. They watched in vaguely uncomfortable silence for a few of the questions until—
“Oh! I have cake! Do you want cake?”
Saitama was already pushing himself up when Genos went to answer. “You got me cake?”
There was the awkward smile again. “I mean I made it, but…yeah?”
Genos swore there was a nuclear explosion beginning inside him. “You made me a cake?”
“It’s your birthday, kid. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?”
He got up quick enough that Genos didn’t need to worry that he’d notice the tears in the corner of his eyes…which was a ridiculous reaction, it was only cake, that was right, you got cake on your birthday, everyone got cake, this was nothing special…
Saitama came around the corner carrying two large, sloppily cut chunks on paper plates, one with a candle on top of it. When he put them down he flipped open the matchbook that was tucked into the palm of his hand and lit the candle in front of his ex-student.
Genos went to blow it out but he was stopped by a small shout.
Saitama sped around the apartment, flicking off the lights. Genos sat in the dark and waited for the man to sit back down in front of him.
“I’d sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ but my voice isn’t too great, so... Happy birthday,” he cried, arms out. “Make a wish!”
Genos was glad for the dark—Saitama did not need to see how pink he was (blowing out candles always felt childish to him). Nevertheless he took a moment to think and puffed out the flame.
“I won’t ask what your wish was,” came Saitama’s voice, “But I hope you get it. I’ll turn…the…?”
Genos reached out to his hand, catching it before he could stand, and took the briefest moment to steel himself. He’d seduced so many people before—he had it down to a basic formula (eye contact, feign interest, get close, initiate contact)—but this was…different. He wanted to ride this man until neither of them could stand anymore, of course, but anytime Saitama would look at him a little too long, or give him that crooked grin, Genos’ heart would decide he’d completed a half-marathon and all his composure would shatter.
It was easier like this, though. He couldn’t see his dark brown eyes or the blush on his cheeks. He had the chance to take a breath before Saitama stole it away again…
…So he did, just a small one, and crawled around to sit beside him.
“You don’t have to ask me what my wish was,” he started, kneeling in front of him. “I can show you,” he continued, leaning closer—ignoring the pound in his chest to lean further still, enough that Saitama’s chest was brushing against his— “You can make it come true,” he whispered, pressing in as the mouth in front of him struggled with words, and—
And oh, this was…
…Sensei’s lips were shaking under his, his kiss was hesitant, his breath tasted of lemon and sugar, and they were smooth and plush and fuck he wanted it he’d wanted this for so fucking long…
He pushed harder, and Sensei did not pull away. He hugged him, he hugged him harder, and Sensei hugged back, and his mouth opened more, and Genos couldn’t stop thinking about how soft his cheek felt as the tip of his nose brushed against it, and his fingers on his waist, and how hot he was against him, around him—
And then his tongue was gone, his mouth, and Genos fell forward trying to chase it…
Sensei’s skin shone under the silver light. “That…that was…”
Wonderful, electric, maddeningly short—
“Ho boy,” Sensei breathed, pulling himself away and standing. “Lights. It’s dark, I’m—wait a second…”
Genos was caught between the urge to wilt into the floor and to smash his fist through the table. He hadn’t decided which he wanted to do when Saitama-sensei came back.
Wilt. Wilting was what he wanted to do. “…Alright, Sensei…”
They ate in silence at first, Genos quietly fuming. The cake should have helped—it was very good, despite the messy frosting and uneven coat of sprinkles—but…no. No, he swallowed angry, frustrated, unable to decipher what his once-teacher wanted. He’d brought him here, didn’t he? He cleaned for tonight, he prepared, they’d talked about it long before it happened...
Wasn’t he attracted to him? So many people were—he knew that objectively, statistically, the chances of someone thinking he was sexy were incredibly high, so…
Why did he stop every time they got close?
“This is good,” he finally grumbled, the quiet getting to him.
“Yeah? Good, that’s good. I’m glad.” Another long pause, and then, “Um. The, uh… The thing you said you were gonna work on with your uncle—what’s that?”
Genos quirked an eyebrow at him. “For my birthday?”
Why did he want to know… “It’s a set of neuroprosthetics that would combine implants, myoelectric control, and robotics in a way that would make wearing much more natural for the user.”
Sensei gazed back at him. “I think I understood a third of that.”
Genos frowned. “Saitama. It’s prosthetics that…would respond as if they were normal arms, without tiring those who use them as much.”
The man tapped his fork on the table. “That’s really neat… ‘Tiring’? What do you mean by that?”
“Prosthetics—current prosthetics, that is—can be very tiring or irritating to wear, and if they malfunction they leave the user with a dead weight that does nothing but make things more difficult for them. If my uncle and I could perfect the theories we have discussed, the prosthetic system would be somewhat self-sustaining, and function not only as light exosuit that would offer extra support but as an aid for everyday activities without exhausting the wearer…“
Saitama stared for another few seconds before hanging his head and laughing. “You’re so fucking smart, kid…”
Genos would not look back. It had less to do with being “smart” than Saitama was giving him credit for. It infuriated him, the thought that someone could experience something so terrible that it left them without pieces of themselves, and the only way to recover would be through more pain, more frustration, more exhaustion…
The worry he felt initially when he saw his parents in the hospital after the explosion, missing hands and legs…and the desperation to make it better for them—to do anything, anything, to help them survive it, only to…have them…
“It’s important to me.”
His ex-teacher smiled. “You’re gonna do a great job on it.”
Silence passed between them for a few more moments. “That kinda stuff… Is that what you’re going to school for?”
Genos nodded, still not entirely sure where this was going. “Yes, Sen…Saitama. I intend on getting a doctorate in robotic engineering while studying neurology, so that I may help my uncle.”
“Just how smart is that guy?”
“Doctor Kuseno?” Genos smiled. “He is one of the most respected men in his field. He works with geniuses, and they consider him far wiser than they are.”
Did Saitama pale? “Oh. …Wow.”
“I look up to him a great deal.”
“It sounds like you should… Man, that’s amazing…”
Genos toyed with the frosting on his cake. “I…worry him a great deal, as well.”
“You? How?” Saitama chuckled. “Are you staying up too late studying?”
Genos wished he could laugh the same way… “I…I go out, quite often, and…” He remembered the many, many times he left in the middle of the night without any warning, when his uncle first took him in. “I was troublesome when I began living with him.”
“I think…he still worries that I’ll get into trouble.”
Sensei smiled. “That’s what he’s supposed to do, though. He’s looking out for you. I’m sure you’re okay.”
“…I don’t make it easy.” Genos thought back on the weekends he’d spent away from home during the school year, the relieved look on Uncle’s face when he walked through the door. The weeks since he’d graduated were the first he’d spent entirely at home in months…
“You’re such a good kid, though. I wouldn’t let it get to you.”
This time Genos did laugh. “Good”… As if there weren’t four different fake IDs stored in his room, or he’d never had the cops called to hunt him down as a runaway, or he’d hadn’t gotten himself tested for STDs so regularly they recognized him at the clinic. Saitama had no idea what kind of person he was…
Genos blinked up, surprised at the ball of shame digging its way down his stomach when he met the man’s eyes. “Yes?”
“You alright? You got real quiet.”
He started to answer, he started to tell him no, he was wrong, he’d done things that were disgusting, cruel, careless…
But then he stopped, because if…if he knew…
“Is it me?”
Genos stared aghast. “Absolutely not, Sensei! You’re wonderful, you’re perfect and kind and—“
Sensei viciously shook his head. “No, nono—I wasn’t phishing for complements, I just…” And he sighed. “I’m sorry I’m so weird. I’m sorry I’m so…bad at this…”
“At what, Sensei? At…talking?”
“No, at…” He looked up shyly and added, “Flirting?”
Again, Genos stared. “You are flirting with me?”
Sensei slumped into the floor. “’m trying to…”
The boy watched him get pinker and pinker, his cake turning into more of a compost as he mashed it together. “You already know that I want you, Sensei. Flirting is…unnecessary by this point.”
“No, that’s not—“ The man groaned again. “I’m trying to get to know you, you know? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Talk, and hang out, and…all that.”
The shame rolled back full-force. “You do not need to know me in order to fuck me.”
Sensei’s eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets. “Holy shit kid, you can’t just say stuff like that…”
“It’s true, though.” Genos tried once more, sliding over to Sensei’s side of the table (why had he gone to the opposite end?). “And I want you to fuck me. Badly.”
“O-oh, okay, um—“
“It is legal for us both now. I waited for you, Sensei.”
“Sait-tama,” he stuttered, falling back to his hands. “You gotta—I’m not a—“
“Saitama, then.” Genos crept closer, not closing the gap, Saitama had to do that himself— “I want you to fuck me, Saitama.”
The man toppled on his elbows. All he did was gape back and it was enormously frustrating.
Genos checked Saitama’s crotch—no, he was turned on, that wasn’t the problem— “Do you not want me?”
The gaping continued until his hand pressed against Genos’ chest. “Of course I do, that’s not why… Listen,” Saitama began, pushing back until he could sit up.
Genos knelt in front of him, eager to hear his explanation.
Saitama exhaled slowly. “It’s not that I’m not into you. I’m…I’m really into you, okay? I’ve been so nervous for today that… Nevermind, doesn’t matter. It’s that you’re special, kid. You’re not some lay. I don’t want to just bring you home, screw you, and kick you out. I…” He paused, searching Genos’ face for something, and…
He seemed defeated by what he found. “…Let’s ease into it, yeah? Uh…Come ‘ere,” he piped, slipping away and laying in front of the TV, “Let’s watch some. This is a funny show.”
Genos followed, unsure. This was weird, he didn’t get it, he didn’t understand why the man was being so indecisive about what was going to happen. They were going to fuck—that was the agreement. He would turn eighteen, they’d screw, and—
Genos stiffened next to Sensei, who was explaining what had happened on the last episode. He wasn’t paying attention, because…he was a bit preoccupied.
He had always assumed Sensei wouldn’t want to pursue anything further than a purely physical relationship. Not because others were the same—they seemed to want to spend time with him, and Genos supposed it was enjoyable, but…they were unimportant. They were lesser than Sensei, in some…odd degree, in their—their integrity, charm…
Genos could not place it, but Sensei was so much more than they had been. He believed he would look the same as everyone else in the man’s eyes. He would be something fun for a night (a few nights with any luck) and the fling would end. Genos would ache for it, but he’d recover and his life would continue unchanged. He’d expected the burnout, prepared himself for it.
He had not prepared for…interest. He hadn’t prepared for Sensei to be sitting beside him, nudging him with his elbow and commenting on how much of an ass some character was, laughing and smiling with him. He wasn’t prepared to be told that he was “special.”
He wasn’t prepared to be more than “some lay.”
Sensei excused himself and stood, returning with two pillows. He flopped onto his belly while hugging a pillow under his chin and told his ex-student to do the same. “So you can relax,” he explained. “Maybe smile a little. You should have fun, it’s your birthday.”
Genos did the same—still unsure, still feeling…exposed, in a way he couldn’t place—and turned towards the TV.
The show was a little funny. It was an animated comedy about a secret agent. He laughed, and Sensei laughed with him, and a spot of heat started to simmer between his ribs. He hugged the pillow harder in a desperate attempt to snuff it out.
Sensei moved closer, just enough that they were touching, and it grew. He tried to not make it obvious that he was almost hiding his face inside the fluffy white mass.
“So you like the show? It’s a marathon. We can keep on watching if you want to.”
Genos glanced at the clock. It was eleven, and he originally thought they’d screwed at least twice by now, but…
“I do, Sen…Saitama. I like it a lot.”
This was nice. It was really nice.
“Cool! It’s one of my favorites.”
They talked quietly through intros and episodes and commercial breaks, discussing tiny things that didn’t matter much. He laid his head on Saitama’s shoulder and neither mentioned it at all.
Genos turned to plant a kiss where he was laying, and Saitama returned it to his forehead. They both giggled through it and Genos knew it was not entirely because of the joke onscreen.
Saitama pulled away a moment later.
“Sensei?” Genos asked, not at all proud of the panic cracking his voice.
Sensei laughed as he rolled over onto his back. “It’s gonna be tough to get you to drop that, huh? C’mere,” he said, holding out an arm. “You’ll be more comfortable this way.”
Genos had to remind himself for the umpteenth time that he was a full-fledged, legal adult with plenty of dating experience and not some blushing virgin, because he sure as hell felt like one. “Yes, Sensei…”
They fought with the pillow to get it settled beneath both of them and continued to watch…or in Genos’ case, tried to watch. He caught roughly half of the plot, far too focused on the feeling of Sensei’s heartbeat fluttering on under his threadbare shirt, the heat flooding from his body, the way his toes curled out to brush Genos’ legs…
The boy swallowed hard and tightened his grip on Sensei’s top. This was the time. This was when he needed to make a move, when he should be sliding up and wrapping Saitama up in a kiss, when he could start what he’d been dreaming of for—what was it, eleven months now? Almost a year? It was here, quite literally within his grasp, and all he needed to do was bear down and take it.
So…why wasn’t he?
Genos was not shy. Calculating definitely, and cautious perhaps, but he wasn’t shy by any definition of the word. When he had a goal he pursued it relentlessly until the first opportunity came for him to grab it, except…for now, when he’d had so many opportunities to shower his ex-teacher with affections and make him his…
Saitama wove his fingers through Genos’, and the unbelievable rush that had been coursing through him all night surged yet again.
…He inhaled slow, too exhilarated to care if Sensei noticed. That was it, though…wasn’t it? He wanted to make him…his. He wanted to fuck him, yes, god yes, he never understood how excruciating denial could be he’d been unintentionally edged for however many hours he’d been here, but…
It was more than that. He wanted…he wanted Saitama to want it to, he wanted him to want all of it. Genos wanted all of it.
Saitama bumped his forehead with his own, and made him look up, and gave him that dumb wonderful lopsided smile.
He wanted…all of it. All of him.
Genos stared as Saitama leaned down. He stared, for just a moment, as he kissed him slowly, so much softer than their first kiss had been. It hit Genos that much harder.
They went on, the kisses getting deeper, longer, wetter, and…it hurt. It was sweet and addictive and ran through him like currents from exposed generator, it took over his entire body, it ached and…
Saitama made a small noise and looked up. “Oh shit, Genos, we have to watch this scene.”
He just nodded. He was dizzy with it, with this—content, desire, comfort…?
Sensei came back for more kisses. Genos’ hands roamed and this time he let them, not pulling away or telling him to stop. Then…then it was Genos that hesitated, wanting to listen for a punchline, and they did, laughing through the kiss, continuing like it had not happened, or…or like it had happened…
Saitama’s fingers slid along the skin beneath his sweatshirt and Genos curled into them. When there was no more skin to touch they tucked into the sleeves to pull it off, and Genos stretched himself out for them, for him, he was so vividly aware as Saitama watched it go and he wanted it, fuck, he wanted it…
Saitama’s shirt was next, and Genos had not expected the abs as they were revealed above him, nor the swell of pecs above them. Then to feel them—Sensei’s skin sliding on his own, his hands trickling across him, lips roaming down his shoulders, his collarbone, back up to toy with his mouth…
He slowed and Genos found his eyes trained on the television. His neck stretched as studied the scene, only to stretch more as Genos pushed up to catch it. There was an appreciative sigh, and then laughter, and Genos could feel it as he sang, “’Hup, hup, what, what?’”
“What?” the boy asked, finally looking at the TV.
“It’s a virus from some tech guy.”
Genos held tighter onto the man’s back. “What, Sensei?”
“It’s—“ Saitama chuckled and pressed back down. “We’ll watch it again later. It’s really funny.”
His laughter reverberated into their kisses, and it was contagious.
“I almost think, Saitama-sensei,” Genos started, wrapping a leg around Saitama’s hips as he tipped his head back, “That you’re not taking me seriously.”
“That’s not true…” It was his turn to suck at his neck. Genos would’ve gotten light-headed if he wasn’t already. “You’re laughing too.”
“I’m…not,” he breathed, bucking back.
There was a tiny chuckle before a squawked, “’What, what?’”
“Sensei!” Genos was, indeed, laughing.
“Told you,” he whispered. His lips tickled across Genos’ ear and the boy shivered into them, cheeks sore from smiling so much.
The kept on touching, kissing, giggling, losing a sock here and a belt there, though Genos could not keep track of whose was whose. He didn’t realize he was out of his jeans until they were half-way off of him.
There was a wave of embarrassment when they both looked to his briefs—more specifically that they were soaked through from a very, very long night of waiting—but it faded fast. No matter how new and overwhelming and intoxicating this…thing happening between them was, Genos knew with absolute confidence what to do here.
“Please,” he moaned, spreading his thighs, meaning it more than he ever had, “Please, Sensei… Fuck me…”
Sensei’s cheeks splotched with color and for a second Genos was afraid he would pass out. “Oh, fuck… Shit,” he whimpered, whipping away to his futon. His hands shook as he rolled it out and pat it flat.
…It was very cute.
He stepped back, and Genos pushed himself up to—
“Up we go,” Saitama said as his arms wrapped around his body. Before Genos could complain he was being carried over to the mattress.
He deadpanned his teacher as he was laid down. “Sensei. It was a few steps over.”
“It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t have to.”
“…Walk? Do you not think that’s...silly?”
Saitama knelt between his legs. “Maybe…a little…but people should do stuff like that for you. You deserve it.” He looked away (thankfully—the corners of Genos’ eyes were welling up, though he didn’t want to admit it) and started slow. “So… I have, um…c-condoms, and lube, and, uh…” His ears were on the edge of combusting into flames. “We’ll need to prep, so if you have a way you like to do it…”
The mattress shifted under Saitama’s weight as he leaned to grab a small box of condoms from beside his bookcase. “Not gonna happen,” he answered, plucking a small bottle from inside it.
“I can handle it. This is hardly my first time.”
Saitama huffed. “I didn’t think it was, you just… I’ll hurt you.”
“I’ve been with big men before.”
That must have struck something. Saitama-sensei crouched back, creases filling up his brow. “Yeah, and I’ve done this before. You’re going to need a lot of prep.”
What was he talking about? Genos had been touching him for a good hour now—not much underneath his clothes, Sensei seemed hesitant, but it was enough to know what was there and it was nothing he hadn’t handled before…
“Look,” he said, stepping out of his jeans (awkwardly—how could a man so attractive be so ungraceful?) and throwing them to the side. “Touch me.”
Genos did not need to be told twice. He reached for the dark blue material of his boxers, reveling in the small groan his ex-teacher gave when he touched him. He brushed his fingers along his length, and…alright, yes, he was fairly thick, but not that—
Not…that… “…How do you hide this?”
Saitama-sensei hung his head. “By not getting turned on when I’m out. I’m lucky that I look kinda normal when I’m soft.” A glare, and then, “So thanks for all that flirting you’d do in class.”
Genos could not bite back the grin. “It was my pleasure, Sensei.” He also hadn’t taken his hand away and was rubbing gently now. Sensei was huge… “Rather…it will be my pleasure…”
“Dork,” Saitama breathed, pushing in time with his touch. Genos was a little intimidated, surely, but…he was positive he’d slept with someone of similar size before. He must have. Not that it mattered, he was going to take it regardless, he did not wait a year to get so close and not have this man ramming into him by the end of the night.
He went on rubbing, imagining it—thinking of Sensei sinking into him, his tongue exploring as they kissed…the sounds his ass would make as that massive fucking cock pounded inside him—
“Fuck,” his teacher hissed, lifting his hand away. “Gonna finish if you keep up like that...”
No, he was not intimidated, he was ready, oh god was he ready—
“Will you…lean back?”
He couldn’t laid down faster if he’d passed out.
Saitama slid his briefs down with a great deal more care than he had his own jeans, and Genos found that he was self-conscious after discovering how, ah…gifted his ex-substitute was. Not that he was at all small, he had no reasons to feel so, but…he had his pride.
“…I’m not as large as you are…”
Sensei laughed. “Good. It’s way more trouble than it’s worth. You probably have more fun with it.”
Genos would fight him, except that…well yes, he probably did, all things considered. “I will have fun with yours.”
The man hid behind his palm. “How did you learn to talk like this?”
“Intuition, mostly,” Genos answered, spreading his legs once again. He was getting sore from the worst case of blue balls in his life, but at least he was satisfied with how dirty he looked, dick bright red and leaking, and everything around it slick and shiny. “Pornography takes care of the rest.”
If the way Sensei gaped at him was anything to go by, he whole-heartedly agreed. “Oh my god…”
And while he appreciated the gawking… “You said you needed to get me ready…Sensei…”
He clicked open the lube and coated his fingers, eyes darting between them and the boy laid out in front of him. “Oh my god,” he repeated.
Genos dragged his palm across the man’s leg. “I agree…”
A deep breath, and a pause, and then a very small, “You’re so friggin’ hot…”
No, that was it, that was the tipping point. "And I’m yours,” Genos gritted, digging his nails into the man’s thighs as need throbbed through him, “So please, Sensei, for god’s sake, please fucking touch me.”
Then—even then!—it was a full minute before Saitama began anything in earnest, and that was painfully careful. He prodded at his ass, spreading and testing and teasing, and it took every ounce of self-control Genos had to not to grab the damned bottle and take care of it himself. He was horny—he was so fucking horny—he was already right there, Saitama barely needed to do anything—but he was going so slow—
“Sensei?” Genos asked, lifting his head from the floor.
“You’re…you’re really beautiful,” Saitama mumbled, leaning over him and putting small pecks on his jaw, his cheeks, kissing softly, and—
Finally, finally, he’d pressed in, and—he was...oh fuck it felt good…
“The faces you make, and all your sounds…”
He was searching, pro—prodding, playingoh—“Ah!”
“Y-Yes--!” Playing—playing with— “That’s—aiih—“
He…he’d definitely found… “That’s…it…”
“Uh… You, um…”
“I can stop—“
“No,” Genos cut, whipping up his head far too fast. He groaned, and fwumped back, and waited for the world to slow down.
“I can clean you up, at least?”
Genos fumbled for the man’s hand. “I like it,” he pushed, pressing him back insi-ai…inside, shit… “Please…go…”
And he did. He kept on playing, and stroking, rubbing, kissing on and off and down and wet and everywhere, using a second finger, a third, and when Genos came again he used a fourth, and it was still not enough, not enough, Sensei was all over him—around him, in him, the world was pleasure and ache and heat and his sweat and his voice and his fingers, tongue, lips voice smell fuck just him but it was not enough—
“Fuck me—fuck me—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”
Genos babbled, begged—he heard a small paper tear and felt him pushing inside and he was big, so big, and still he begged to be fucked, filled, to feel—shit, to feel him press in—and out, and in, deeper this time, and again—
Big—he was big, he was so big—
“A-are…are you okay…?”
Panting, in his ear…moaning…holding him soft, close, careful, god he was so careful…
And he d-did—all the way, until—he was all the way—
“Ohmygod… I’m… Fuck, Genos, I’m—“
In—he was in, he was in… Genos needed to breathe…
“…Does it hurt?”
He inhaled slow, and exhaled slow, adjusting, relaxing… “N-no…”
Breathe in, and out… In, and out…
And out…and in— “Aah!“ —and out— “S-sen…!”
—and in, so deeply in…so stuffed, so full, faster, breathing faster, on his ears, holding tighter, harder—words—“soft” and “tight” and “beautiful, so fucking beautiful”—so much, it was so much, he was so full—so full—
“Am—am I hurting—”
God no... “No, it’s good, it’s so good, please—“
More—there was more, more, so much more, hotter, wetter, tighter, Sensei was holding so tight, like he’d never let go, like he never wanted to, like this was everything, saying things—beautiful things—beautiful, he said he was beautiful, he was so much and filling and pressing and it was wet all over—from sweat, from cum, from tears fuck Genos was so happy so happy so happy, so safe, loved—loved—he loved--
Loved…h-he was so hot, so close…Sensei was holding so close, rocking faster, harder, deeper—whining, and filling, god, throbbing inside him…
Panting…and holding still—holding harder—clutching soft and safe and warm, fuck, so safe, Genos was so safe, he was held and loved and Sensei was so warm and Sensei was so warm…
So…much, it was too much…
He was so much…
“Oh—Oh my god, Genos, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it hurt—“
He shook his head. “N-no.”
He buried his head into Sensei’s shoulder. “It d-didn’t h-hurt…”
“…You can tell me…”
Genos held him tighter. “It f-felt so good…”
Sensei held him back. “Al…Alright…”
Genos cried on, ashamed. He could not stop it. The sobs wracked through him and he heaved, frustrated and embarrassed and utterly confused, because…
…He could not remember ever having been this happy.
“It’s okay,” Sensei told him, rubbing his hair. “It’s normal. I know a lot of people cry after…you know. It’s intense.”
“I do not,” he whispered.
“It’s not every time.”
“It’s n-never happened bef-fore.”
“Still…it’s okay,” he pushed, kissing Genos’ forehead.
A fresh set of tears seared down his cheeks.
Sensei reached for the box of tissues on the manga tower, plucking some out and handing them over. “Take these, okay? I’m gonna go get a towel.”
Genos nodded into the bundle as Sensei stood, slipping off the condom and tucking it into another tissue. There were thuds coming from various parts of the apartment—on tile, on wood, on countertops—and after clicking off the light switches he came back.
A wad of fluff drifted over Genos’ skin in the dark. “Can you, um… S-spread your legs? Just a little.”
Genos let his thighs fall open. He sniffled, and smiled. “Are you still shy, Sensei? After…”
The towel was thick and soft. Saitama-sensei gently cleaned his ass, his stomach, his chest. Genos watched him pat himself down in the moonlight coming through the glass door. “Do you want anything to sleep in?” Sensei asked, tossing the towel aside.
He’d been sleeping in his teacher’s hoodie, but seeing that the real thing was right here next to him… “Only your arms, Sensei.”
“Oh my god,” he laughed. “You just…pump that stuff out, don’t you…”
The boy tried again. “So you are still shy?”
Sensei grunted and settled down beside him, propping a pillow behind both their heads.
“Even after being inside me?” Genos pushed, grinning. He would’ve liked to sound more sensual, but it was difficult when his throat was sore from sobbing his eyes out.
“Oh my god, please…”
Genos pressed up against his side, happy that the glow from outside was illuminating the bright red on his cheeks. ““Please what, Sensei? Please do not tell you…” There were so many options to choose from—how great your cock feels, how well you stuffed me, how incredible you are…
…How incredible…that was…
What indeed. Genos had never been fucked—
…Wait, no. Not fucked, that wasn’t right. Fucking…it was rough, and careless, and while it was very good it still wasn’t…that. What they’d done…it was slow, unbearably slow, and soft, and sweet…
The way Sensei held him—and the way he talked to him, the things he’d said… How cautious he was with everything... No one had ever done that before. He’d had drawn-out sessions before—he’d done much, much filthier things before too—but somehow it didn’t seem so intimate, so close, as what they shared. He felt open, and cared for, and—
Something clamped down hard in Genos chest when it hit him.
Loved. He’d felt loved.
They made love.
“Tell you…that you are amazing, Sensei.”
There was another kiss to his forehead. “That’s all? Geeze, you had me going there. I was expecting something a lot dirtier.”
“What?” he laughed. “Don’t be sorry. You saved me.”
Genos curled in, holding close. The tightness in his chest was overwhelming and he could not stop thinking about that phrase. Made love, they’d made love, they’d made love…
“Hey,” Sensei whispered, tapping at his chin. When he looked up he gave him the gentlest kiss possible, and Genos thought he might crack from the pressure. “Good night.”
“Good… Good night, Sensei…”
The man laughed next to him. “I’m fightin’ a losing battle with that…”
Genos stared at the shine of sweat on his chest, the way his tan skin seemed to glow under Genos’ own pale fist, the smile drifting in his eyes. He wanted to tell him, he wanted to say it—to let him know, somehow, that…that this was new, amazing, wonderful—that yes the sex was outstanding, it could have only been so after wanting it for so long, but this…this thing, this thing that had happened…
That when Genos was moaning it was good, so good…when he cried it later…he wasn’t talking about the sex…
“Thank you, Saitama-sensei.”
Sensei gave a sleepy, confused grunt. “What?”
“Thank you…” No, that wasn’t right, that wasn’t what he needed to say, but…he hoped…
He would understand…
“Thank you,” he repeated, unable to do much else, and nuzzled close.
Sensei gave a perplexed “Welcome?” and hugged him closer.
The only sounds after that were from the rustling of dirty sheets and slow, even breaths.
Breakfast was much the same as cake the night before—awkward and delicious, and sweet of his teacher to make it. Genos was glad to see him cook in just his pajama pants, yawning in the early morning light, not quite awake…
There was still sleep in those eyes and Genos wanted very much to kiss it away. There were other things he’d wanted to kiss away too, but—
The boy looked down to his eggs. He couldn’t do it. He remembered everything from the night before, and…it scared him, just a little. He could admit that.
He had realized mid-morning, once he had the opportunity to stretch and piss and think on his own for a few minutes, that the phrase he wanted last night was not “Thank you.”
It was “I love you.”
He realized too that was absurd. He’d spoken regularly with the man for what, a few weeks? Through messages, occasional meet-ups… That was hardly enough time to decide that you are in love with someone. That was barely long enough to determine whether or not you would like to pursue a friendship (which Genos did, but that was beside the point). Any heartfelt confessions he may have wanted to spew out were the result of hormones and fading adrenaline.
“Do you want more toast?”
Although…he watched Sensei bite into a piece of black bread, and…he was fairly certain that’s what it was. Mostly. About eighty percent.
“Heh… Genos. My toast is dry. Can you butter me up?”
“Ha, ha… No? Nothin’? Yeah, that wasn’t my best.” He glanced at their plates and gave that smile again. “It wasn’t too…eggcellent?”
Genos guffawed, nearly coughing out his mouthful of breakfast. “Sensei, that was terrible!”
“Nah,” he retorted, “That was a Grade A pun.”
His ex-student groaned and smiled back, relenting that he was maybe only half-sure it was from hormones. He was, after all, clear-headed right now. Tired perhaps, and more than a little horny, but he knew what his post-sex haze felt like and it had definitely passed. Still, though…seeing Sensei eat over his plate, seeing the tiny rolls in his belly from where he slumped and the frown he made as he struggled to crack his back…
It struck him again how badly he wanted to say, “I love you.” It didn’t feel like a cloudy, adrenaline-fueled thing now. It felt natural, normal. As commonplace as asking to open the porch door, or getting a glass of water.
Just, “Good morning, Sensei. I love you.”
“I love you.”
Genos peeked up at his teacher, understanding…well, you don’t do that. You don’t tell someone you love them after having slept with them once. It had happened to Genos on more than one occasion and it was miserable every time. It was awkward, uncomfortable. Uncalled for. Sex was sex and love was…something else.
And so far, they had only had sex.
They finished breakfast and washed dishes, Genos helping. His teacher was cute—flushing brightly whenever they would touch, stuttering as he made conversation…and then later, when Genos prepared to pull a tank top from his bag and he offered one of his own T-shirts.
“It’s the polite thing to do,” he explained, unable to meet Genos’ eyes as he held it out.
He slipped it on immediately. It was worn soft and was steeped in his scent…
When it was time to go, Saitama-sensei hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder and reached for the door. “Ready?”
Genos nodded, but then…stopped. Again that urge rose up in his throat, the one that made him want to tell him, want to say something, anything, but now that he knew—now that he knew exactly what that something was, and that he shouldn’t say it, couldn’t risk it—
“Did you forget something?”
He—he had to—
“Thank you,” he rushed, dipping automatically into a bow before realizing this was not the time for that kind of thank you.
The bag rustled as Saitama adjusted it on his shoulder. “For what? Breakfast?”
Genos shook his head and looked up, staring long into his teacher’s eyes. How else did he say it? How else did he say, “You’ve made me feel safe, happy, beautiful, wanted…”
“Thank you,” he repeated, one more time.
The pink that had settled permanently on Sensei’s cheeks spread. He swallowed, and mumbled a tiny “oh,” and said, “Don’t…mention it…”
He opened the door for the two of them, and they left.
There was a car down the street…near the house…and, yes, finally, this one pulled up in front of the lawn.
Kuseno took a sip from his coffee and clicked “SAVE” on one of the studies he’d been rereading. There were a few formulas he thought he could revise for this new set of prosthetics, but...well, it’s impossible to read over old work and not revise it as you go. He couldn’t believe he’d made so many basic errors with his testing before.
The lock clicked open and in walked little Genos. Not that he was very little, and not that he liked when his uncle called him little.
What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. “Welcome back, my boy.”
“Hello, Uncle,” was the answer, as it always was. It didn’t have its usual note of exhaustion, though. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I’ve eaten already. Sensei made breakfast.”
That dark pit grew in the bottom of Kuseno’s stomach. He’d spoken of this “Saitama-sensei” for a while now, and while Kuseno had always known it was because of a crush, he didn’t think Genos knew that. Smart as he was, the boy was not very good at reading people…which made the doctor worry. After all, this “Sensei”—on whom there wasn’t any information on any of the nearby school’s websites—may not care about his brilliant nephew at all, and was only stringing along a good-looking, impressionable eighteen-year-old so he could…use him. The thought alone made him sick.
Kuseno sighed as he pushed away from the computer screen. No sicker, he supposed, than the idea of what the boy was doing when he went out all night and came back covered with all sorts of bruises and hickeys. He’d tried to stop him from leaving when he was younger—make him stay in and study, ground him, do the sorts of things he’d done with his sons when they were his age—but it had a disastrous effect. He would simply not come home from school some days, or sneak out, or flat-out run away.
Kuseno didn’t think he would ever forget the misery of the one week he didn’t come home at all. He woke up every morning expecting a phone call telling him they found a body and they needed him to come to the site and identify it…
He’d done that enough for one lifetime. He couldn’t risk having it happen again.
Kuseno cracked his neck as he waited for the boy to come back downstairs. He eased up after that, letting Genos come and go as he pleased. They agreed he would enroll in martial arts classes for self-defense, that he would answer his phone whenever his uncle called (and that said uncle would not abuse that power, no matter how worried he got), and that he did not have to mention what he did if he came back unhurt.
The last one, though, was more an unspoken agreement between them that had popped up…recently. They’d discussed how to have safe sex, what to avoid in a partner. If Genos’ frequent charges for condoms and lubricant were anything to go by, he was following that advice very well.
…Maybe a little too well.
It was a few minutes until his nephew thudded back down from his room (he was such a heavy walker). He meandered in the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and a few cupboards, drifted over to the empty coffee pot. Soon after he wandered into the dining room, fiddling with magazines left on the table. Kuseno searched for the frown he wore after nights out, but…
Was that a smile?
Eventually he settled into a chair beside the desk, quiet in the way that meant he wanted to talk.
“How did it go?” Kuseno asked, truly curious.
He froze. “Ah—“
There was a much longer pause that normal. He didn’t usually take these questions so seriously… “Was it that bad?”
A great big pair of doe eyes whipped up. “Absolutely not, Uncle! It wasn’t bad at all! It was…”
Was he blushing too?
“It was amazing.”
Kuseno turned to face him. “’Amazing’? You were with that ‘Sensei’ of yours, right?”
He watched the blonde’s reaction, and…well, as unsure of this man as Kuseno was, he had to give him credit for making Genos grin the way he was.
“Yes.” Then he giggled—
Wait. He giggled?
“Though it may be early to say that he is mine…”
Kuseno gave Genos a good, long look-over, checking for the normal signs he’d gone out—unsavory hand marks, scratches and bite rings on his neck, bags under his eyes…but there was nothing. Not a thing. If he didn’t know he was gone, the only way he’d tell something was up was that he was practically floating in his seat.
“…Will you be seeing him again?”
A vigorous nod, and then, “Yes, tomorrow. Sensei will be taking me out for lunch. He suggested we visit the petting zoo near the park, since they have a family of ducks, and he says they remind him of m—“ He froze again, curling his fists in his lap, redder than Kuseno could remember ever having seen him. “Yes, I will be seeing him again.”
The boy was elated. He was ecstatic, he could hardly contain himself.
He took a moment to gear up for his next question. “Genos,” he asked, now not entirely sure what he wanted the answer to be, “Is this going to be a thing?”
His nephew laughed. “I think I want it to be.”
He’d never heard Genos laugh so freely either…
“Tell this Saitama to come in tomorrow when you picks you up, would you? So I can say hello.”
Kuseno had a feeling he should meet this man as soon as he could.